


I'm taking the long road (but I'm getting there)

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, College, Coming Out, Depression, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting his freshmen year in Samwell Jack Zimmermann is determined to get his life on the right track. It’s going to be hockey, school, more hockey and nothing else (except maybe holidays with Parse).  </p><p>College turns out to be different than he expected. </p><p>Or: how a boy meets his best friend and falls in love. Several times. In no particular order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. before

"I wish you'd come with me," Kenny says, for what must be the hundredth time that morning.

There are so many things Jack wants to do, wants to say, on their last morning together. Listening to Kenny begrudging comments about Jack's college plans is not one of them.

"Kenny," he smiles, gong for suggestive but it turns into a yawn. "What time is your flight?"

"Noon."

Kenny stays silent. There’s something about him sprawled naked on Jack's bed, in Jack's home that feels wicked, naughty. It isn't, Jack knows, there was never a question about why Kenny was in Montreal.

_("Mom," Jack starts, his voice shaking._

_"You're a grown man, Jack. He's your significant other," Alicia says, as if it's obvious. As if there isn't a lump in Jack's throat and his heart isn't beating like it was trying to bounce of his chest. "Of course he will sleep in your room if that's what you want."_

_"It is. Thanks, Mom."_

_"This will always be your home, Jack. Whatever happens, I'm here. So is your father, you just need to give him some time.")_

The sharpness of the memory combined the dull morning light enveloping Kenny’s blond head that confuses Jack in his groggy state. It’s too soft, too unfocused and for a moment he is sure this can’t be real, the foreign bed with it’s warmth and softness, Kenny’s easy smile, and the light. Too much light and not enough sharpness for this to be the reality.

It catches him unprepared, the fear this is just his mind, just dreams and desires and giving up to being a scared little fuck up. That his body is elsewhere, on a bathroom floor, shivering and cold once again and his parents hate him, think he is worthless and disgusting and Kenny isn’t here, he’s Las Vegas, or Anaheim, or New York winning the cup alone. That Jack is alone, alone, alone. And dying.

“Jack,” Kenny says softly and grinds his cock against Jack. And oh, the shock of their bodies is such a blessing, solid and grounding and demanding.Alive.

Jack laughs and Kenny laughs too, biting his jaw. He doesn’t know how he could think this wasn’t real - Kenny’s body is pushing him into the mattress, warm and insistent. It keeps surprising Jack even after all this time, how they fit against each other; compact power against compact power, the potential for violence held in check by the desire to crawl into each other’s skin.

Kenny is everything, everywhere, too much and not enough and Jack is almost willing to say fuck-it-all for this. Let Kenny play hockey, let Kenny be amazing and talented and respected, Jack can spend his days in Kenny’s bed and have this instead.

“Turn around,” Kenny whispers and Jack does, still laughing. “What’s so funny, asshole?”

“Don’t know, I…” He tries to say _love you_ but suddenly Kenny’s fingers are _there_ , a sharp reminder of what they did yesterday and Jack pushes his head into the pillow, face going red.

“Are you blushing?” Kenny smiles against his shoulder blade and Jack moans at the twist of his fingers there, there, _there_. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Jackey-boy. All very natural reactions.”

Jack’s “Fuck you,” is muffled against the pillow and Kenny laughs viciously and starts pushing into him.

Kenny is not a nice person, Jack reminds himself.

_(“Dad,” Jack pleads. “This is who I am.”_

_“Son,” Bad Bob says gravely. “I couldn’t care less about the gender of the person you decide to be with. I care about their heart.”_

_It’s funny how the mind works. Jack knows it was said in two different conversations, but this is how he will always remember it.)_

He groans loudly when Kenny is finally inside him, then again when Kenny grabs him by the hair and pulls. It’s not the pain, which makes this moment memorable, it’s that Jack has no choice but make harsh, sobbing breaths as he is fucked harder and harder.

Jack doesn’t need a nice person. Jack needs Kenny.

“I love you, you incredible fuckwit,” Kenny breathes, as if it was a secret. "I wish you wouldn't,"

“You love my ass,” Jack grits through his teeth and Kenny laughs, speeding up.

“Shit, Jack, you’re on to me.”

He loves Kenny and hockey, and those two will sustain him forever. He’ll fight (his parents, his body, his mind) to have both for all eternity.

It's not goodbye, he reminds himself later. Hugging him briefly at the door, awkward and tense, mindful of his parents just a few meters away.

"I'll call you," Jack promises.

"Give them hell," Kenny grins.


	2. this is how it starts

“Jack,” he says, shaking the coach’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Jack, we’re very excited to have you here,” coach Hall says, he’s smiling in that polite way adults started getting around Jack the last two years. The “let’s-pretend-I-don’t-know-just-how-much-of-a-fuckup-you-are” way Jack frankly hates. He’s probably doing it without thinking, Jack thinks, most people don’t do it consciously or when they do they assume it’s kinder. Jack would like to disagree, but calling the variety of hockey veterans, health care specialists and “fans” (i.e. overly interested strangers) on it has long ago lost its appeal. It used to be amusing, the shocked faces and uncomfortable silence, but it’s neither amusing nor empowering without Kenny around to snigger at it afterwards together. 

It doesn’t matter now anyway, coach Hall has stopped looking at Jack and instead his eyes are fixed on the man standing behind Jack, signing every available surface handed to him by a bunch of over enthusiastic college kids. 

Right. There is _that._

He’s pretty sure having your dad walk you to the rink on your first day of practice camp should be embarrassing. And having your dad, the living hockey legend, walk you to practice camp is definitely considered some sort of pinnacle of teenage-embarrassment-angst. 

Unless you are Jack.

It might be the fact he’s long used to the attention being Bad Bob Zimmermann’s only son brings, or that he’s grown out of teenaged angst outbursts, it is as likely as his mind being so weirdly wired he just doesn’t function like normal people do. Whatever is the reason having his dad there is far from making him feel awkward – it’s nice. There’s something about his dad’s familiar bass chucking at the background, telling a funny tale Jack probably knows by heart, that’s reassuringly reminiscent of the dozen other first days his dad walked him to. 

His dad wasn’t always there when Jack was growing up, but he made sure to be there and hold Jack’s hand on the days it mattered. Every PV league team, every new juniors team, every prospect camp there was a big hand holding his, and later an (always stronger than expected) arm around his shoulders. Bad Bob made sure there wasn’t anybody in the world who didn’t know who was Jack’s biggest fan (Alicia, but he was a very close second). 

It took Jack longer than it should to recognize just how much his dad loved him (after, like so many thing, he only realized it after). It only made him more determined to also deserve his respect.

Which is what Samwell was all about. Jack squared his shoulder, this was his, he will come out victorious. 

“Woah,” says a guy appearing next to him. “I suddenly feel much better about my privileged existence.”

“Yeah?” Jack says, because he honestly doesn’t know what else to say. The guy looks pretty average for a hockey player: tall and muscular, his hair is cut in that artfully messy way Kenny has been trying to pull off all of last winter (Jack teased him mercilessly about it again and again over Christmas, gleefully ruining half an hour’s efforts with his fingers). 

“Definitely,” the guy says. “I was so wrapped up in this guilt trip I would have over being a stinking preppy asshole with an entitled private school education and an attitude to match. And here you are”.” 

There’s something so un-maliciously relieved about it, Jack can’t help but relax.

“Here I am,” he says. 

Private-school guy looks at him and bursts out laughing. “Well, at least you’re gorgeous. You might as well be stunningly handsome, if you’re so talented I will be forced to be jealous our entire time here. I’m Ben,” He offers a hand.

“Jack,” he introduces himself, probably for the tenth time that day and they shake hands. He’s not sure if the compliment was a come-on or not. Samwell is pretty famous for being LGBT-friendly, which despite the obvious was a plus in Jack’s book.

_(“You know you’re going to get labeled by it, I just don’t get why you’re doing this!” Kenny almost shouts in one of their more memorable fights._

_“Why, afraid someone might guess you like sucking my dick if you stand too close?” Jack snarls, before Kenny’s body slams into him.)_

“Actually,” Ben says. “Shit. Can you forget I just told you my name?”

Jack raises an eyebrow. 

“I decided I’m not going to use it just before I came here, but I forgot.” Not-Ben laughs nervously. “It’s such a shitty name and I’d rather just… You know how sometimes you want to just cut ties with who used to be? I’ve decided I’m going to do that. I mean, I was standing on my dad’s roof last week, looking down, and I wasn’t going to jump, honestly, don’t look at me like that- I wasn’t. And it’s a pretty low roof. So, anyway, I just thought, who the fuck am I? Who is this person, and I couldn’t answer that. And Samwell’s not the woods, obviously, and this isn’t some weird existential indie flick, I plan on…” 

“Sure,” Jack says, just to stop the monologue.

“Awesome.” Ben-is-a-shitty-name smiles at him, all honesty and teeth, and Jack is kind of happy his heart is already occupied. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s not that shitty a name,” Jack tries for a conversational tone. No surprise it lands painfully awkward instead. “I know some decent people with that name.”

“It’s my father’s name,” Shitty-name says darkly. 

“I get that,” Jack nods, fathers are complicated.

“No you don’t,” Shitty-name laughs. “Your dad is awesome.” 

And he nods at Bad Bob, taking an impromptu picture in a Samwell shirt and helmet someone found for him, smiling from ear to ear. 

Jack shrugs. “Yeah, he is.” 

“Do you mind if I marry your dad?” One of the older guys shouts at Jack. “Do you think your mom will mind?”

“His mother’s a very understanding woman,” Jack’s dad says gravely and winks. 

“Dad,” Jack protests, his cheeks going red and goes to rescue his father from his adoring fans.


End file.
